To Catch a Biker
by FlourTheCat
Summary: In which Magneto is a daredevil turned motorcycle gang leader and Charles Xavier is the beleaguered police chief that wants him to stop joyriding down the streets. Cherik; Downplayed Mutations; Cops and Gangs AU
1. To Interrogate a Viper

This is based off of a roleplay with a close friend. You can consider the fanfic an excercise in character and thing development-so yes, you will see OCs (more cameos than anything), mostly in Erik's gang and in the special place called Eastside. Because of this, a lot of other details that I'm unfamilar with are glossed over with incorrect mumbo-jumbo, so if you happen to be in the law enforcement or automotive branches you'll see plenty of wrong things. (Feel free to correct me if you'd like.)

I have no problem with paralyzed!Charles and in fact I consider it very important and would MUCH rather write that than not, but police chief and wheelchair simply do not get along. :( Maybe it will happen in the course of the story if I write that far. I also don't have a problem shipping their older selves, but they likely couldn't handle the effort involved with these positions at those ages, so here have a handwave about the X-Gene.

Crossposted on AO3

* * *

It started mildly, like most things. A group of four passing through; bikes red and purple; themselves relatively nonthreatening; jackets proudly bearing the logo of the Steel Vipers. But it was enough for a concerned passerby to report suspicious behavior, and it was an innocent warning of what was to come.

While they hadn't yet done anything truly despicable (that they could link indisputably to them, at least), Charles Xavier, the local police chief, would appreciate it greatly if they would stop causing public unrest.

Charles was born in 1932, but very few people would guess that he was almost 80 years old. While he would grudgingly admit that his time of young beauty had passed, he was hardly the frail, dilapidated old man most people would associate with an age of that number.

This was due to a strange genetic phenomenon that was slowly gaining traction in the scholarly community, known as the X-Gene. The X-Gene was known to grant its possessor slower aging among other abilities.

One of these abilities is telepathy.

While it was hardly a thorough and accurate account of what exactly Charles was capable of, it was one that people were likely to understand, and in the few situations that he had been asked what it was, it was generally the answer he gave.

Unfortunately, while the abilities were certainly extraordinary and helpful, everything had its limitation, and the case of the Steel Vipers was one that was particularly challenging to Charles.

It was a fairly simple stratagem: when dealing with gangs or other unruly and rowdy people, take out the leader, and the rest falls to pieces. In this situation, fairly simple also meant fairly well-known, which meant that said leader was also aware of it, which meant that isolating and arresting him would be nearly impossible.

Read: They don't know who he is.

Which is why he hoped Hank was bringing good news about it, as he vaguely heard "Steel Vipers" and "Charles" cross his thoughts.

"Come in." Hank was one of the informal "upper echelon" of the force, which essentially meant he was aware of Charles's powers. Though Hank didn't have any powers that they knew of, Charles does believe he's aging a tad slow for a human, though of course there's no way to prove it without extensive research, and those days are over for Charles.

"We've found out a little more information about the Steel Vipers…," Hank started, trailing off a little.

"Hmm?" The question as implicitly understood by Hank.

"Well, Raven approached a few members and asked them."

"…Of course she did." Legal ramifications aside, gangs attracted all sorts of individuals, most of which Charles doesn't want any of his force around unless absolutely necessary. You could say that caring for his officers like children was a weakness, and he has many times felt it keenly, but it wouldn't change. "Continue."

"Of course, we can't hold anything they say to any sort of standard, but she did get one piece of potentially critical information, and they seemed confident of the others." Speaking of confidence, Hank seemed to lack it right now.

"And why are you reporting it, and not herself?" Hank mostly dealt with forensics. That wasn't to say he didn't go out in the field, but Charles sincerely doubted it was his idea to approach the gang members and question them.

"…Why do you think?"

"…I'll speak with her later." Charles's expression fell. "Continue."

"The boss goes by the name Magneto. They didn't seem to have any better idea of who he is than we do, but seemed confident in the fact that we're not going to catch him." That seemed to be everything Hank had to report.

The last part wasn't particularly surprising. Very few criminals operated on the mantra that they were going to get caught, and those criminals were either very easy to catch, understanding what they did wrong, or very hard, due to the excessive steps taken to prolong the time until the eventuality.

The first part wasn't either, pseudonyms and titles were not uncommon in the gang world, and figuring out what it meant could prove valuable.

The middle part…was alarming. Where there was one secret, many generally followed, and there was no telling what secret dealings the gang got involved with on a regular basis. In addition, if the gang does not have a face, they have to execute their business in other ways, and anything a gang does in "other ways" is never good.

"I see. Have the officers actually assigned to the case found anything?"

Hank winced. "You would have to ask them, sir."

"Thank you for informing me. Dismissed." Charles returned to his other work.

As much as he would love to sit there and think it out, information was limited, and any thinking would simply be theoretical, and ultimately not of much use. He also did have other work to do, so that would come first.

* * *

"Raven, what did you do?" They were off shift now, returning to Charles's mansion. Suffice to say, Charles was born rich, and he didn't have a problem extending housing to those who may need it at any given time. Living in a building that large alone just ached of emptiness and teemed with shadows of the past. Raven and Hank just happened to be two whose company he often enjoyed.

"You're going to have to be more specific." Raven innocently continued walking, though she was fully aware of what he was referring to.

"You approached the gang. Hank told me that much." Charles looked at Raven with an expression that dared her to deny it.

"I approached three members that were idling in a parking lot. We had a friendly conversation. That's it." Raven shrugged. One of her specialties was undercover operations—being memorable exactly how she wants to be, and not how she doesn't.

"You approached suspected criminals, off duty, without any sort of backup." While Raven didn't technically do anything wrong, Charles still considered it reckless.

"And they were nice and I got good information. You know I can take care of myself. What happened to the Charles that was preaching about the inherent good in everyone?"

"There is," Charles maintained, "but that doesn't mean you should just approach them senselessly."

"Are you going to make use of the information gathered?"

"Well, yes—"

"Then stop lecturing me." Accompanied by a wink.

Charles frowned.

* * *

Charles, could, honestly, go the rest of his life without hearing the name "Steel Vipers" or seeing the color combination red and purple. It was a terribly gaudy combination and he couldn't comprehend what the colors and name had to do with each other. The fact that their logo was actually a cobra also annoyed him, but that was more than likely irrelevant.

"They're currently compiling a list of confirmed members," Logan stated, while appearing to be doing nothing.

"How's the progress?"

"Considering your no approaching rule, poorly."

Charles ignored the jab. "But some progress?"

"We've found a few, mainly through their license plates. Others are very blunt about their association and were easy to find too." Logan mostly seemed uninterested about the affairs.

"And yourself, Officer Howlett?"

"I'm going to go have a friendly chat with them."

Charles paused. "…How about I accompany you."

Logan grunted.

* * *

Talking with the selected members was an interesting affair, to say the least.

Terri was young and talkative, more than willing to cooperate, ultimately giving them much more information than they asked for or needed to know. Escaping from her was a tricky affair.

Lambert, on the other hand, was older and quiet, tattooed from his neck down, and owned FabriCraft, the store where the gang purchases their jackets. Charles is fairly certain he was lying through much of their interview, but let it go for now.

They avoided Victor Creed, upon Logan's request.

John and Rebecca were a married couple, gentle and friendly, John a bit more outgoing than Rebecca.

Andrew's wife is not a part of the gang, and he works as a cardiologist.

Tim lives in Canada. That was apparently important information, Charles heard it repeatedly.

In other words, there was no easily distinguishable common factor among the members.

"Who's next?" Charles had a firm frown on his face as he focused on the road.

"Erik Lehnsherr, that mechanic."

"Really?" In the area, Erik was renowned as not only an expert mechanic, but also a _quick_ one, able to make repairs swiftly and precisely. He was also known to be ridiculously stubborn with a less than stunning personality, which is likely why his store isn't as popular as one might expect. "I know where it is." He absently switched lanes to get there.

Once at the shop, Charles pulled in and parked, quickly identifying the man working under a car. What caught his attention wasn't the toned body, but the mind—Charles wasn't actively using his powers for any purpose now, but he could still feel the man's presence: strong, steadfast, and powerful, steely focus caring for and only for his reparative goal, and working accordingly to achieve it. Charles needed to get a closer look—good thing that was in the books anyways.

He exited the car, carefully making his way through the workshop—leaving Logan as standby in the vehicle, as always—before coming to a stop beside Erik, and calmly and quietly peering down, both physically and into his mind. It was just as intriguing as previously. While a less sophisticated man might call it "crushing," Charles would simply refer to it as enthralled. He suddenly caught the lightning quick irritation before—

"What?" Erik was looking at him now, the twitch of an eyebrow and lip belying the calm of his face.

"Hello, Mr. Lehnsherr, I'm Charles Xavier, and I would just like to ask you a few questions about—"

"No." Erik resumed working.

Charles paused. "Ah. You're not under suspicion, I would just like to talk."

"No."

"…I see. I apologize for interrupting you, then. Have a nice day." Charles straightened, intentionally slowly, to allow himself a look at the business. It was small, as expected for one privately owned, and it seemed as though it connected to an area in back where Erik presumably lived. A motorcycle brightly painted with the colors of the Steel Vipers sat, as if on display, out front, and two sheets displaying the exact colors hung in the window alongside a gang jacket. Various other projects littered both the yard and the garage, with an organization surely only understood by the man before him. "Thank you for your time," he said, one last futile attempt to ignite conversation.

Erik grunted.

Charles returned to his cruiser—not dejectedly, mind you, that was not an emotion he wore—and reclaimed his seat beside Logan.

"That was fast," Logan commented as they began to pull out of the driveway.

"He was most uncooperative…" Charles couldn't help but stare behind them as they drove off.

Logan snorted. He knew that tone meant they'd have little luck getting him to drop the topic anytime soon.

Like I said, this is a exercise in development, so of course I could have just called Erik's gang The Brotherhood (of Evil Bikers?) but I wanted to create something new along with a story for it.


	2. To Invite a Viper

A couple of warnings not in the tags, since this is becoming bigger than I expected:

Taking this fanfic seriously is probably a bad idea. Sure there's an intended plot and Charles and Erik are pretty nice, but some parts of it are just ... ridiculous. Tread ye with caution.

And warnings for the objects covered in Charles's and Erik's backstories and just general police stuff (some conflict, car accidents, etc.)

Nothing will be described in great detail, but some of these things may be discussed.

As for the pairing, it's marked ChErik, and while they'll be dating in the background, there are plenty of other fics if you want to see explicit things.

* * *

"Where are they all coming from…," Charles muttered, flipping through the reported sightings of Steel Viper members and discovering that sightings had nearly tripled as compared to a few weeks ago.

"…and why are they here now," Hank finished, stating another important question.

Charles put the notes down and weaved his fingers under his chin.

Hank suspected Charles's fascination with the case was a result of the challenge inherent in it. Charles was a moral man and tended to avoid using his telepathy if possible since the laws were extremely fuzzy regarding it. But in this case, the nature of the gang not actually knowing who their leader was made it an impossibility for Charles to 'cheat,' so to say, rather than a self-imposed limitation.

Whether Charles was enjoying the challenge or considered it a threat to his ability to lead the force, Hank wasn't sure. After all, he wasn't the telepath here.

Thankfully, Charles didn't seem to be listening to his thoughts at that particular moment. It would have been rather embarrassing.

Logan walked in afterwards.

"Manners, Logan," Charles chided gently, but it was generally agreed that was a lost cause. "I hope this is important, what did you find?" His attention was firmly on the man now.

"Nothing," Logan said bluntly. "We analyzed the files of all the members we have. Some of them are cleaner than I am, others not so much."

"No common factor," Charles summarized. They had been hoping for some sort of initiation or any pattern that would help lead them to the true workings of the gang, and hopefully to its leader.

"No, but your boy toy is a murderer."

"He's a murderer?"

Hank wasn't sure what was most embarrassing—how quickly the topic got Charles's attention, the fact that he didn't question the first part, or the fact that both of them knew who was being referred to. He placed a hand over his face.

Logan grunted an affirmation. "From the 60's. A man named Sebastian Shaw."

Charles glanced down, his face unreadable. He did not ask for further elaboration on Erik or anything about the gang.

After a few minutes of the unexpected silence, Hank and Logan took it as their cue to leave.

* * *

Charles was vaguely aware of their departure, but his mind was mostly focused on his most recent "object of fixation," as Raven so elegantly put it.

It was not surprising, Charles realized—Erik had the mind for it, viciously sharp and finely honed, but a distinct part of Charles was disappointed that murder was the chosen use for it.

He did hate to see potential go to waste, and was left wondering what tempted the man to go down that path, rather than a more favorable one.

He was duly aware that the answers were quite nearly right in front of him. The department already retrieved his file, and it was likely that many, if not all, of the desired answers were contained within.

But it was a breach of privacy, one that need not be crossed unless the case takes a darker turn. Charles would hear it from the man himself or he wouldn't hear it at all. Simple.

Charles reclined in his chair and relaxed in his new decision.

* * *

"When are you asking him out?" Raven took absolute delight in teasing and prodding Charles about his so-called "pining" over the man named Erik Lehnsherr.

"I am _not_ asking him out." Firm and neutral, Charles may have accidentally used his chief-tone rather than his friendly tone, but he needed to get the point across.

"Why not?" She remained as nonchalant as ever.

"Because I'm a police chief and he's a member of a gang? Because I'm not interested? Because _he's_ not interested? Because I have more important things to do?" They were all very good reasons, yes, completely bullet proof.

"They say opposites attract. A kindergartener could tell you're interested. Showing up in full uniform for an interrogation would spook anyone off. You've been an officer for decades, you're allowed to have a personal life." She barely wasted a moment considering her retaliation.

"Opposites only attract because the concept of something new is exciting. In practice, the relationships are quite … unstable." Charles wouldn't go so far as to say that every opposite relationship would be so, but he honestly couldn't see how dating a member of the gang he was _trying to take out_ could end in any way other than disastrous.

"So _what_?" Raven said with a ferocity that startled Charles. "It's a relationship, not a bomb. If it goes poorly, you walk away, no harm done."

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you."

"Do it or I will."

Charles just shook his head.

* * *

"The chief wants to go on a date with you."

"…Excuse me?"

* * *

"He thinks I'm crazy now."

"You ARE crazy!" Charles stared incredulously at the woman he'd known for years. He should have known she wasn't joking, but he allowed himself to be blinded.

Raven shrugged.

Charles continued staring.

She flipped through her book.

"…What'd he say?"

"'Excuse me?' in a self-entitled and condemning way." Raven shrugged, but Charles could see a grin dancing on her lips.

"But not no." He said, mostly to himself, before blinking, "I mean, I say no!"

"Sure you do," her flippant attitude about his personal life was starting to annoy him. "Either way, you're going to have to go clear the air between the two of you."

"I … you planned that." Charles's expression fell.

Raven didn't deny it.

"You know he's a murderer?" Charles said unexpectedly. The fact was a hard one to grasp, even for a man who's seen as much as he had. Just one piece, floating detached, of many that eventually intricately formed into the man named Erik Lehnsherr.

"So're you."

Charles nearly recoiled. Sure, there were the unfortunate incidents where there was no better option to proceed than to eliminate the criminal, but to call them murderers? They were protecting the people. It was different.

Maybe he should keep telling himself that.

* * *

Charles, therefore, found himself back at the garage.

This time, however, Erik was sitting on a couch tucked against the wall, one leg haphazardly tossed over the other, phone in one hand, the other arm resting along the back of the furniture. He glanced up, made a fact that looked to be a half attempt at amused annoyance, before dropping his gaze back down.

Charles stood in silence for a couple of seconds before it became painfully clear that Erik had no intention of greeting him. He cleared his throat—getting a quirk of an eyebrow and a twitch of a lip upwards—before, "I just wanted to apologize for my friend's unacceptable behavior, approaching you with frightful untruths."

"All rumors have a basis in truth," Erik shot back coolly, like some sort of oversized fortune cookie. He relaxed his arm, lowering his phone to finally give Charles his attention, a sly grin on his face implying this was nothing but a game for his amusement.

"I-t's hardly a rumor," Charles stuttered on the reply, hardly believing what he just heard.

"She's the third person I've heard it from." Erik remained composed, eyebrows raising in a challenge themselves. He paused, but continued at Charles's flabbergasted reply, "News travels fast, whether it's about the sexual affairs of police officers or," he spared a glance down at his phone, "…hula-hoops." He remained staring at the phone in consternation, and Charles was somewhat glad the smug look was gone from his face.

Charles waited.

A minute or two passed, before Erik sat the phone beside him, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Why are you here, Chief Xavier?"

"I already told you why I was here." What was it with people recently and not believing him?

"You're not getting anything from me," Erik stated firmly.

 _I could get everything from you_ , Charles noted dully. "I'm aware."

"Are we going to dinner or not?" Erik's grin widened as Charles spluttered.

"Are you doing this just to see my reactions?" Charles grumbled once his regained himself.

"Yes." It was said extremely sincerely, but Charles could see hints of a smile behind the façade.

Charles crossed his arms behind his back, and rolled onto the heels of his feet before balancing himself back. "You're being exceedingly difficult."

"Always." Erik stood up, pocketing his phone, and Charles saw him at full height for the first time. He walked forward, an arm hooking out and catching Charles around the waist.

"Excuse me," Charles stated indignantly. He could have broken free from the embarrassing scoop, but nevertheless skid backwards awkwardly.

Once they were outside the garage, Erik released Charles, and busied himself closing the doors. "Size?" he asked calmly, standing in front of the standard door.

"Size?" Charles echoed.

"Helmet size." He glanced in the direction of the bikes in the yard.

"I have a car," Charles offered instead.

"And I have a truck."

Charles glanced around, just now noticing the truck parked beside the building rather than in front. "So you do."

Erik waited.

"If you insist, we can take our own vehicles."

Erik's eyebrows rose high, but he shrugged, closing the door and snapping his helmet secure. "If you must. I'll follow you, chief." He brushed past Charles with a smirk, mounting his motorcycle—thankfully not the one with the gang colors—and waited for Charles to proceed.

It admittedly took him a while, as he stood there wondering how the purpose of this trip turned from cleaning up Raven's mess to actually going on a date.

"Do I need to carry you, chief?"

Charles snapped around to find his—apparently—new boyfriend leaning forward on his bike, looking for all the world that he truly did enjoy doing this just to see Charles's reactions. "I can walk!" he snapped back, huffing and grumbling to his car.

In the window, a glossy steel sign declared the shop closed, even though Erik hadn't gone near it, and Charles couldn't for the life of him remember if that's how it was when he pulled in.


	3. To Investigate a Magneto

"Get back to work," Charles grumbled, after being asked for the thousandth time how his date went. God, Charles wouldn't trade his relationship with his force for anything in the world, but he could see the advantages of being a heartless superior who _only had to say things once_.

Raven, of course, was the most persistent of them all, and still remained firmly at his side even as he walked away with his tea.

"You still never answered the question, chief." And while her persistence was admirable in reference to her duties, there were times when Charles really wished she were easier to distract.

"It was hardly a date, alright? A dinner. We talked a little, about our respective roles in our organizations, he very quickly informed me that any attempts to fish him for information would be shut down immediately, and we had a meal. I don't know what romantic, life-changing thing you're looking for, but you won't find it here." With a huff, Charles quickened his pace.

-TCAB-

After finally herding his children of a force back into business, Charles finally settled down to work on a few cases of his own, and by cases, he meant paperwork. Being the chief did have its boring periods, after all, and being a telepathic chief meant that most of his activities ended up being boring, and those that didn't were often tinged with frustration.

At the very least, Charles reminded himself, no matter how frustrating the case of the Steel Vipers was, at least it wasn't a murderer evading capture.

They were, as it stood, a relatively harmless case to test his wits against. (Traffic dangers notwithstanding, but, alas, nothing a police department dealt with was truly harmless.)

Logan slammed the door open, "I got some news from the asshole up north."

Charles didn't even attempt to restrain his sigh, unsure whether to berate his manners or his language. The so-called 'asshole' was Chief Stryker, and as it sounded, patrolled the area directly north of Charles's own. Even Charles would admit the man was rather unsavory, but he got the job done efficiently, which was all he cared about. Logan was originally an officer under him, before transferring to Charles's command. "What is it, Logan?"

"Turns out they've had the pleasure of dealing with our little snakes not long before they showed up here." Logan haphazardly tossed a file onto the desk, and Charles had to scramble to keep everything else from hitting the floor.

Charles quickly flipped through the pages, noticing images of a few members they had already identified, plus some other information he would have to look at later. "It seems as though he was even more interested than we are."

"Yeah, well, you know how Stryker feels about anyone other than himself causing ruckus in his neighborhood." Logan's face violently twitched.

"And they migrated here recently, of course…" Charles said, mostly to himself, considering what would cause such a move. It was entirely possible that they were just a migratory gang, relying on connections and (possible illegal) money to fund their lifestyle, or they had simply gotten tired of dealing with Stryker, and sought an easier domain to make their territory.

"The most interesting news is on the last pages."

Charles obediently moved to the end, and was greeted by a couple of pictured primarily featuring a red and purple blur. The remaining parts of the pictures were of fairly high quality (minus one night shot) and a closer examination led Charles to vaguely interpret a motorcycle rider, "…Magneto."

"They think so. As in, the colors match and they don't have a much better idea of who either of them may be." Logan sat down.

Charles read the information on the opposing page. Much like what Logan said, the mysterious motorcyclist spotted and photographed several times behaved recklessly and wore the gang's purple and red, but has never been seen directly communicating with them or sporting their logo. Stryker's force had tried to capture the man, but he always vanished without a further trail. They can only assume he's the so-called "boss" the rest of the gang refers to, but without proof. Charles sat back and considered the information.

"Think they did something of use for once?" Logan seemed amused by the prospect.

"I think that if they couldn't catch him, we're going to have a hard time doing so." Charles's mouth twitched upwards, but he was far from amused. "I also wonder if they had simply asked one of the members if that was their boss, since they seemed mildly cooperative so far."

"Since when has asking ever been in Stryker's dictionary?" Logan's nostrils flared.

"I suppose I'll have to rectify that mistake." Charles tsk'd softly, closing the file for now.

"What, are you going to ask your boyfriend?" Logan raised his eyebrows in a clear taunt.

"No, unfortunately, the topic is entirely off-limits as per our agreement." Charles would have to confront one of the others—maybe take Raven, she seemed to be good at it.

"You would settle around 20 ongoing bets with that statement." Logan stood up to leave.

" _What_? There will be no gambling in my force!"

-TCAB-

ATTN ALL OFFICERS:

Please recall that all bets are strictly off limits during working hours and as such any placed, specifically about my dating life, are null and void.

Chief Xavier

P.S., those of you that bet against me, please have more faith in your chief.

-TCAB-

"What are we doing?" Raven asked, eager to spend more time with Charles, and, he suspected, interrogate him about his boyfriend.

"Official business, still," Charles attempted to correct that immediately, showing the blurred images of their mystery rider. "We're going to try to get confirmation whether or not this is their boss."

"You think a purple and red blob might be their leader?" Almost in unison an eyebrow and a corner of her mouth quirked up.

"Ha. Ha." Charles gave her a flat stare before putting the images away and starting the car.

She smiled innocently.

They talked a little during the ride, mostly Charles questioning where she originally encountered the members and subsequently following her directions.

As before, they encountered a group of five gang members congregated on the edge of a restaurant's parking lot. It was impossible to determine if the restaurant was bothered by their presence even though they were obviously loitering and likely driving away business. As Charles parked a block down, they already began to look over and watch their actions.

Charles felt a pang of hesitation about sending Raven alone to confront them, but he knew it had the chance of success, Raven could handle herself, and Charles was right there if they turned hostile.

Raven took the file. Raven exited the car. She approached the gang members. She said something.

They remained mostly neutral.

She opened the file.

Two glanced down at it. One watched her. Two watched Charles.

One said something.

Raven laughed.

They seemed unamused.

Raven said something else.

They glanced at each other. They nodded. They said something.

Raven nodded. Raven said something. Raven walked away.

Charles blinked and looked over as she opened the door and sat down.

"Yeah," she confirmed.

"What else did they say?" Charles watched warily as the gang mostly returned to talking to themselves, but were still obviously watching Charles and Raven.

"The same spiel about how we'll never catch him." Raven shrugged, closed the file with a flair, and snapped her seatbelt with a click.

"Well," Charles hated to admit it, "they have some facts to back that up, unfortunately. If you hadn't noticed, that file we're working with came from Chief Stryker."

"That's…actually impressive." Raven frowned. "But," her tone picked back up, "One thing Stryker doesn't have is you."

"Am I supposed to be flattered?" Charles teased as he reversed out of the parking lot. "Besides, examining the minds of the 100 or so members that we've found—so far—is simply unfeasible and needless to say immoral, and taking control of someone is complicated as it is, let alone someone controlling a vehicle at dangerously high speeds."

Raven hummed, "I'm sure you'll figure it out regardless. Though I don't know, you _do_ have a boyfriend in the way now."

"Oh for the love of—!"


	4. To Discuss a Gang

"Why did you decide to become a mechanic?" Charles asked, skirting around the topic of the gang, as per their agreement, sitting on Erik's couch because Raven had chased him out of the office, claiming too many unused days and other such nonsense.

"I'm good at it and it makes money," Erik stated bluntly, his dull tones further muffled by the car he was currently working on.

"So, nothing to do with exploiting a gang for money?" Charles replied, gaze honed on the window display of the gang jacket plus two paint boards showing the exact colors specified for their bikes.

Erik glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"…Right." Charles let the topic drop, even if he felt the hum of amusement and affirmation from the other man's mind.

"It works, though," Erik stated, ducking his head back into the vehicle.

"Erik!" Charles squawked.

"I'm _kidding_ , Charles," Erik said smoothly, clicking his tongue a few times. "I hold my gang in the highest esteem and would never act negatively towards them. They actually get a discount for my services, as is offered by most businesses owned by members."

Charles shuffled, surprised he got that much information out of him. "Oh."

"And…whose idea was it to use a cobra as the logo for the Steel _Vipers_?" Charles finally questioned, quirking an eyebrow as he stared at the jacket.

"A what?" Erik slammed the hood shut, grabbing a towel to wipe off his hands.

"A cobra. Your logo is a cobra," Charles reiterated, getting up and heading over to the jacket. "May I?"

Erik stared critically before giving a curt nod.

Charles carefully pulled it down—though he may look on the group negatively it didn't mean that it wasn't important to Erik. "This—the hood around its head," Charles said, tracing the cobra with his finger. "That's a trait of the cobra, not the viper."

Erik's brow furrowed, "So…we're supposed to be the Steel _Cobras_? What a ridiculous name."

"You're asking me what the name of your gang is supposed to be?" Charles asked, amused. The jacket was admittedly of nice quality, but the idea of a gang still made him uncomfortable.

"Stalowa Żmija," Erik stated, "is what we're supposed to be called. But the name was translated."

"And…you don't know what that translates into?" Charles turned around to hang the jacket back up and hide his amusement.

"Let's just say that when I came to this country, learning the English translations of exotic snakes wasn't my goal," Erik said bitterly, tossing his towel aside.

"Oh?" Charles questioned, but Erik was focused on his phone instead. Charles paused and stared, before, "That works too, I suppose."

"I'm asking Terri why the logo is a cobra," Erik muttered.

"Ah." Charles watched as he put the phone away.

"Are all gangs inherently negative?" Erik asked suddenly, even though he was walking away from Charles.

"Pardon me?" Charles wasn't sure if he should follow, and suddenly felt in the way.

"What have we done to deserve your interest?" Erik didn't go too far, just to grab the vehicle's keys from the drawer.

"Oh. Breach of peace, mostly. It's not that the gang, per se, is illegal (yet), but when dozens of you gather in a single place, you start to get loud and it scares people. Gangs in general tend to do that, and larger ones especially tend to fall to deindividuation, where the members start to consider their actions as a consequence as the gang as a whole, rather than their own responsibility. The separate members don't seem interested in adhering to our warnings, so we figure the best course of action is to go after their leader, who seems to already have some charges on his record." Charles explained carefully.

"I don't partake in those behaviors," Erik replied, opening the vehicles door.

"And I love you for that," Charles bantered, ignoring the stunned disdain on Erik's face. "And as problematic as you trying to date a man intent on disbanding your gang at least to an extent may be, I don't intend on quitting until my people feel safe."

Erik stared a few more seconds, before giving a grunt of acquiescence, slipping into the vehicle and backing it out of the garage, mind a miasma of considerations and contemplation.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Raven asked Hank, technically off-clock but curious what he was doing.

"I'm chatting with support." Hank frowned, "I'm talking with the company that owns the group conversation service that the Steel Vipers use for communicating, and I'm trying to see if maybe they could help us in any way."

"Not going well?" Raven assumed.

"They're being extremely slow. I'm guessing whoever I'm speaking to isn't used to requests of this sort and is confused as to what to do." It wasn't exactly abnormal, but it was still exhausting and annoying, even if it wasn't their fault (and the fact that if he was idle half as long as they were, he'd be disconnected.)

"What have you said so far?" Raven asked, and Hank complied, moving over to allow her to settle down and read what was visible.

 **We're investigating a case for a group called the Steel Vipers and were hoping you could help us in some way.**

 _I'm not entirely sure what you're asking me to do._

 **We're especially interested in who their leader is, if you are capable of giving that to us. He goes by Magneto.**

 _Please hold on._

 _We're not permitted to release this information to you._

 **It's for an official investigation into a criminal organization.**

 _You would need to speak to a superior and provide proof of your affiliation._

 **Can you do that?**

"So they do know who Magneto is?" Raven asked, knowing that information would be a huge break in the case.

"It sounds like it, doesn't it?" Hank himself seemed somewhat excited about the prospect. His attention perked somewhat as he got a reply, and gave the technician the department's phone number, before sending a thank you and leaving the chat. "So now we just wait for them to call us, and hopefully we can work something out." Hank grinned, looking at Raven.

Raven grinned back, "Charles will be thrilled if this gets us somewhere."

"Yeah, Charles… How's he been doing?" Hank's grin faltered somewhat.

"Ecstatic." Raven reclined in her seat, not needing to stare at the computer screen further. "I mean, I don't think he's had a crush since college.

"Sometimes I forget he's been to college," Hank muttered, along with something about fitness _and_ intelligence.

"Yep, he was drunk one night and told me about it. A woman named Moira. He never really went into any true detail, just a lot of monologue about her mind and how marvelous it was to observe and be in the presence of." Raven shrugged and rolled her eyes.

"Well, I suppose that someone with powers like his might look for different qualities in their potential sexual mates." Hank scratches his head. "It may sound crazy to us, but it's entirely possible that his qualifications require a mate with an … appealing … mind."

"You couldn't find any better word to describe that?" Raven deadpanned.

"Well, I … no." Hank coughed.

"And can you stop using the word mate?" Raven shook her head, spinning side to side in the chair.

"It's basic biology," Hank defended. "And, also," he hesitated, "why I don't understand homosexuality."

"You? Really?" Raven stopped. "I've heard that a lot recently, but didn't expect it from you."

"No! Not—homo _phobic_ ," Hank emphasized. "You know I would support him no matter what. But a man and a woman can have kids, which is how it's supposed to be, and why we're attracted to and want, well, sex. But it doesn't work between two men, obviously, so I just don't understand it."

"So you're saying that heterosexual people who don't want kids shouldn't be able to fall in love either?" Raven countered.

"Well…no, I guess not." Hank's nose wrinkled.

"Because we're more than biology," Raven summarized. "We're human and love is a complicated thing. That's all there is to it." She shrugged.

Hank blinked, then flinched as the door suddenly opened.

"Dr. McCoy?" the officer called, "Someone's on the phone for you."

"Oh, yes, of course." He composed himself before walking over to get it. "Hank McCoy," he greeted once he had it. "Yes, that was me. We're investigating a gang that uses your application for communication purposes. … The Steel Vipers, yes. … We're most interested in who's leading the group. … Magneto, yes."

Raven watched, trying to ignore the annoyance of only hearing half the conversation, and Hank grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.

"I understand, yes," Hank stated as he wrote something down. "You can't tell us anything associated with the account? … I see. … No, that would only serve to make them suspicious, I think. … Can you do that? I'm not sure if it would help, but it couldn't hurt. … Okay. … Thank you. Goodbye." Hank hung up the phone and sat it down.

"What did they say?" Raven asked immediately, even though she knew he'd tell her soon enough.

"They made sure that I was aware that there's no guarantee that the name used to register the account is a real one, but they did give me the name associated with it." Hank handed the piece of paper over.

Raven glanced down and saw the name Max Eisenhardt.

* * *

Max Eisenhardt is one of Magneto's many names in the comics. I won't even say alias, because I don't think anyone's completely sure at this point.

Disclaimer: I don't know Polish.

Disclaimer: Charles's analysis of gang behavior is my not-so-educated guess, do not take as fact.

The group chat app that the Steel Vipers use for communication is a conglomeration of many features and apps and is not any one in particular.


	5. To Observe a Magneto

warning: pseudo math and science

* * *

"This is going to take forever to look through…," Hank complained.

As part of the company's attempt to aid their investigation into the Steel Vipers, they sent him a database dump of their messages for the last month—the maximum that they stored at any given time. They should count themselves lucky, though, as many companies wouldn't send any sort of data, let alone on the short notice that they were given. The gang should have picked a more private app to negotiate their business on. Maybe a VPN. Or something out of the country.

Regardless, a few days after Hank had contacted them—that long because they had to transfer business documents, show proof of cause and identity, and other legal requirements that the company, at least, did require—he had a file rife with the gang's conversations.

But, good Lord, Hank hadn't expected it to be _that_ huge. They were definitely a talkative group and parsing the data for information would be almost impossible. Hank sighed, scrolling a few minutes only to barely make a dent in the raw data.

There was no one nearby—either around their town or north—with the name Max Eisenhardt, which only served to support their suspicion that the name was a pseudonym.

Or, in other words, they had hit another dead end.

Hank had really wanted to have something substantial to show to Charles, but it was proving to be a difficult task.

"How's it?" Logan gruffly asked, leaning against the doorway. Hank sometimes forgot he was the one actually leading the case.

"Not good," Hank admitted, scrolling idly and not actually reading any of the messages. "I'm going to try to do an analysis, see if I can narrow down who it isn't."

"What?" Logan was a lot of things—analytic wasn't one of them.

"Well, here we have a large database of text messages from their group. The idea is that our texting habits—how we spell, our capitalization, our tendency to use abbreviations, every way we type—is so ingrained, so subconscious that our mystery leader likely doesn't change them—even if he interacts with the gang as a normal member as well. Essentially, while the leader Magneto is a mysterious figure complete with special costume, in order to keep up with the gang's activities, he would almost have to have a 'civilian,' so to say, identity that's also part of the gang. Through this analysis, I'm going to try to find who it might be, or at least narrow down who it isn't, which will help lead us to who he really is." Hank explained, hoping it would be fruitful.

"I'm glad you understand all that," Logan shook his head.

"Well, it's my job," Hank smiled weakly, picturing all the things that Logan regularly did that he knew for certain he couldn't. "I'm getting ready to go report to Charles."

"I can do it, if you want." Logan grunted and pushed himself off the door.

"…You can?" It wasn't that Hank didn't like Logan, but "kind" was one of the things he wasn't.

"Yeah. Getting ready to go on patrol, anyways." Logan turned to leave, "I might not have understood everything you said, but I can tell him that you have a couple ideas that you're exploring."

"Thanks…" Hank said, turning back to his computer to begin the analysis.

* * *

Logan walked into Charles's office, giving a curt nod of the head—the best he ever gave. "Charles."

"Logan," Charles respectfully replied. "How is everything?" He was getting ready to leave for their patrol, but an informal report could be made during.

"As good as it ever is around here." Logan shook his head. "Hank is trying a few avenues for your Steel Viper case, other minor things that you've already seen."

Charles hummed, ushering Logan out so he could shut and lock the door. "I'm not sure how to handle them," Charles admitted, following Logan out to the cruiser. "We've made no progress on their leader and haven't found any evidence of illegal activities minus the generic disruption of the peace charges."

"But if you call it off now, it'll look like you're pandering to your boyfriend," Logan ended, slipping into the driver's seat.

"…Well, I wouldn't use _those_ words." Charles said with a cheeky grin, joining him in the cruiser.

Logan snorted. "The idea is still there. The force trusts your judgment, Chuck. If you think it's time to call it off, then it's time to call it off. But that's too close to quitting to you, isn't it?"

Charles chuckled, "You know me too well. But I can't justify wasting time and effort chasing a guy who may or may not exist anymore."

"Well," Logan started, only to pause as he needed to focus on backing out, and then continuing once they were on the road, "obviously he still exists. Hank is trying some analysis on data no older than a month, so there has to be someone being Magneto."

"That there is, yes, but if he's not doing anything illegal, then there's nothing we can do beyond asking him to be more careful with his gang activities," Charles replied absentmindedly, mostly focused on watching the environment for anything suspicious.

" _Ask_ a _gang leader_?" Logan could barely contain his laughter.

"Oh, hush, you." Charles grunted, "There's some merit in the non-violent methods you seem to scorn so much." Charles decided to change the subject, "Where did Hank get this data, regardless? It's not that I don't appreciate it, but it is rather sudden."

"I guess he and Raven made a few calls and obtained it. He's going to do some mumbo jumbo on it and try to figure out who their leader is. You know I don't know how this shit works." Logan shrugged and pulled over, so they were perpendicular to and facing the road.

It was a long stretch of road, very clear, and one that he and Logan sat at often. Neither of them particularly liked setting traps for unwitting travelers (even if the argument that they shouldn't be breaking the law at all was very valid) so it was a typical routine. Charles filled out some papers for various crimes, Logan watched the equipment and surrounding area.

They passed time as such, until Logan spoke again, "Have you heard anything about Jean?"

"Jean?" Charles paused in his writing, raising an eyebrow to give Logan a critical look. Jean was Scott's wife, and most of the force agreed that Logan's interest in her was awkward at best and inappropriate at worst. "She's still teaching at the university and her powers are under control." Jean had extraordinary telepathic and telekinetic powers, but the powers came with control issues. Charles felt that was enough to tell Logan.

"That's good," Logan muttered, shifting uncomfortably in acquiescence but still obviously unsatisfied with the information.

"Yes, she's doing well." Charles gave Logan a comforting grin, but the man shrugged it off. "What are you doing for the holiday?" He decided to change the subject. It was hard to imagine that another year had passed already, but here they were. Many officers didn't notice the holiday season because the force was their family, and many others tried not to because the weather and celebrations lead to accidents, and, unfortunately, suicides.

"Nothing much. Same old. Stay in, get slammed, maybe go pick a fight." The neutrality of Logan's tone made it hard to tell if he was joking. "You're staying in with Hank and Raven, I assume?"

"Yes, most likely," Charles hummed in agreement, but Logan was no longer paying attention.

Instead, Logan was gripping the steering wheel, hunched forward, and staring at—past—Charles.

Charles blinked before tracing his line of sight, only to start in surprise as a purple and red blur streaked past. "Bloody hell!" Charles swore.

Logan growled and instinctually shifted into gear, but although the cruiser drifted forward a tad, they didn't move because they both knew that chasing him would be pointless.

"Teasing us. Fucking teasing us." Logan aggressively shifted the car back into pack.

"…Was he wearing a cape?" Charles asked, staring at the spot where Magneto disappeared. "Because that is a terrible idea."

Logan drug a hand down his face. "Can you focus?"

"Yes, well, I am quite focused."

" _Charles._ "

"It's quite fascinating, really. Most cyclists travelling at that speed usually either kill or grievously injure themselves or someone else, but he's obviously been at this for years without getting involved in anything that lead to his arrest…" Charles rested his chin in his hand.

Logan groaned and returned to watching the road.

"Logan?"

"Yes?"

"Pardon my language."

Logan laughed.

* * *

I just now realized that it took five chapters to actually get to the scene described in the summary, I'm so sorry.

A friend told me that Logan's being a jerk. I thought this was pretty par for the course, but I'm admittedly not fond of him so if I'm playing him too harshly please let me know. In that vein, I have nothing against Jean/Logan or the pairing's shippers; I'll ship anything if written well but I don't think the movie handled it well at all.


	6. To Date a Viper

warning: more pseudo math and science

* * *

Charles sat across from Erik in what would be called their third actual date. This time Charles had insisted upon taking the bill and took them to a small, moderately classy restaurant downtown. It wasn't that he wanted to imply that Erik's tastes were poor or that he was stingy—Erik's choices were just fine—but Charles really wanted to make sure it was special this time.

At the restaurant, he ordered the chef's special, lobster with a garlic baked potato served with cocktail sauce on the side, while Erik passed on that and instead opted for a cut of rotisserie with roasted carrots and steamed green beans, all drizzled with a luscious gravy.

Currently, they waited for their meals, Charles relaxed back in the booth while Erik sat straight, elbows propped on the table to weave his fingers together beneath his chin as he studied Charles.

"You're being rude, Erik," Charles said halfheartedly.

"Hm?" Erik returned, gaze brightening as he refocused on the situation at hand.

"Elbows," Charles elaborated, but was more focused on stretching discreetly.

Erik raised his eyebrows, "Gang member."

"Your status therein is not an excuse for you to enforce the negative stereotypes." Charles rolled his head to give Erik a pinning stare.

"Why do you refuse to ride with me?" Erik countered.

"Well, I'm not yet at a state in our relationship where I know and trust you with my life in that manner." Charles still wasn't sure, despite all the sarcastic references as such, what their relationship status was. He supposed people weren't exaggerating with the "are we or aren't we" talk. "And also your motorcycle isn't legal for a passenger and I'm a police officer."

Erik sunk his mouth behind his hands to hide his growing smirk, "So if I fix that second problem?"

"Still no. Who wears a suit on a motorcycle?" Charles eyes wrinkled as he smiled. Erik was never lacking in physical appeal, even while he was wearing raggedy jeans and paint smeared shirt, but Charles admittedly underestimated his ability to dress up. He wasn't expecting the sharp, clean curves of a perfectly pressed suit, and it definitely didn't hinder Erik's appearance, but the original question still stood.

Erik gestured at his body, grinning viciously at the miraculous spotlessness of the outfit.

"Unbelievable," Charles muttered, still smiling even as he shook his head.

Their bickering was interrupted when the server returned with their food. Charles thanked her and Erik gave a vaguely thankful grunt.

Charles breathed deeply, appreciating the aroma as Erik went straight to the utensils. "Do you not like lobster?" He asked, filling the time while he worked with the lobster.

Erik's eyebrows rose as he paused mid-bite. Charles wondered if he would talk with his mouth full, but the concern was waived shortly after. "Never ate it," he responded as he cut through the next piece. "I don't eat much seafood. Fish."

Charles nodded, going silent to allow Erik peace while he ate. Erik was a much faster eater than Charles—at least when Charles's own meal was contained within a thick exoskeleton he had to maneuver to get to—and it wasn't too long before he considered it safe to speak up again. "What are you doing for the holiday?"

"Nothing." It was an immediate reply, blunt and careless.

"Nothing?" Charles reeled back, blinking, "Nothing at all?" Most people at least took care to spend extra time with their family.

"The garage will remain open, and I will remain working in it," Erik declared neutrally.

"I…see." Charles quietly redirected his gaze to his food.

An awkward amount of time passed before Erik seemed to realize the faux pas and readjust, "And yourself?"

"Spending time with Hank and Raven, mostly, or at least the time we're off." Charles tilted his head in thought, before trying to shrug off the dark spell that rested over their conversation.

"Your officers?" Erik questioned.

"Yes," Charles responded immediately, before deciding that more detail was appropriate. He was dating Erik now, regardless of how long it would last, so might as well share everything now, "My real family is long gone, and my step-family is… was…n't nice, so to say." Charles didn't like thinking about those days and the conflicted emotions that came with them, and the details contained within were a torture that he would inflict on no one.

Erik made a deep hum, his gaze falling and mouth thinning. Dark contemplation, Charles felt now, from that mind so intensely attractive and still managing to surprise him in its glorious complexity and synergy. Contemplation, deep and vast, but not surprised. Charles wondered what had hardened him so firmly against such terrors. Charles still hadn't made the jump to actively read his mind, only allowing himself to feel the general emotion—not hard—but it still hadn't ceased to amaze him.

Realizing that Erik was, once again, lapsing into silence, Charles decided to take a plunge and ask, "And yours?"

"Dead," Erik stated, again in that same straightforward bluntness that was just _him_.

"I'm…I'm sorry to hear that?" Charles didn't intend for it to come out as a question, but Erik just seemed hellbent on creating an atmosphere as toxic to mutual communication and bonding as possible, and the suffocation of the situation made the last part like more of a squeal.

They had both finished a while ago, and Charles would make sure to tip heftily so he didn't feel bad about staying, especially as the restaurant was less than busy. But it would be pointless if Erik continued acting like that.

Charles cleared his throat, refocusing his attention on Erik. Erik, on the other hand, had not done the same, eyes fogged and body tense. "Erik?" He cautiously reached out to Erik's hand on the table.

When Charles brushed him, Erik jerked back to life, withdrawing his hand frighteningly fast. He stood immediately after, picking up his jacket, "I think it's best if we go, now."

"I—what, Erik—wait?" Charles stood too, concern bubbling out of him in a volcano of incoherence.

Erik did not heed his pleas.

Charles paid the tab and left.

* * *

"107 miles per hour," Hank said, randomly from his desk.

Logan and Raven looked over at him. They were currently looking through the datafile of Viper texts, or, at least, they were supposed to be, they weren't sure what Hank was referring to.

"Magneto. In the video from the dashcam a few days ago. He's going around 107 miles per hour," Hank elaborated, spinning around in his chair so they could see the video as he played it.

Logan and Raven gave a glance to each other before looking back towards him.

"You and Charles were sitting around four feet from the road, the roads were around 10 feet wide, which judging by the angle of the video, he was around 21 feet away from you," Hank began, complete with sketch. "Your dash cam has an angle of view of around 85 degrees, which means at that distance it sees around 461.3 feet. He's on the screen for 88 frames, and at 30 frames per second, that's 2.93 seconds. So he travelled 461.3 feet in 2.93 seconds, or 156.9 feet per second or 107 miles per hour."

Logan and Raven looked at each other again, "Did you get that?" Logan mouthed.

Raven shrugged and returned to Hank, "So?"

"Er…well, that's fast."

"No shit."

Hank blinked and looked dethroned. "Well. Uh. Have you found anything of interest?"

Logan grunted as the shuffle of papers indicated they were retrieving papers.

Raven decided to go first, "Do either of you know what Eastside is?"

Logan gave a questioning grunt.

"One of them, mentioning Erik, said there was a breakout at Eastside," Raven mumbled, skimming a pencil over her notes.

"It's a prison, up north, I guess. Stryker had some weird fascination with the place." Logan shrugged but looked away.

Hank cleared his throat. "Raven, we're investigating Magneto, not Erik."

"Sorry," Raven said, lacking any indication she was sorry.

"What'd he say?" Logan exacerbated, solely to bother Hank.

"Logan!" Hank scolded.

"Said it was impossible, but the other one insisted it happened, then they dropped the conversation," Raven answered anyways.

"Guys…" Hank said weakly.

"Alright, stop your whining." Logan clapped him on the back. "There was an explicit mention by one of the members that 'the boss' is Jewish."

"…Huh," was Hank's only response.

"That doesn't really change anything," Raven reflected.

"No, but it's important data when doing a search to narrow down the suspects," Hank argues, but sighs. "They were arguing about hula hoops at one point."

"For being the boss, the boss didn't actually say that much," Raven observed, and the others nodded. "Create meetings…"

"And there was him, the vice president, and the accountant. I guess those are the major three," Logan said.

"Magneto, Lambert, and Big Theta. Did either of you catch his real name?"

"Her. And no." Raven corrected.

They slipped into silence.

"He used proper spelling and grammar," Logan volunteered eventually. "Weren't you trying to do something to that degree?"

"I was, yes," Hank responded, blinking and looking oddly pleased that Logan had remembered.

"And a lot of them didn't, which should help," Raven added.

"What are we going to do anyways?" Logan changed the topic. As a rather violent and short-tempered man, he was always keenly aware of what they could and couldn't do, and the consequences related. "He hasn't done anything. It feels like a wasted effort, to me."

"Reckless endangerment, probably," Raven ventured. "No evading arrest, because you didn't even try."

"So we're wasting resources chasing a misdemeanor?" Logan grunted, shoving his notes aside.

Hank inhaled deeply, "It could be a felony. It would probably come down to the jury."

"Ideally," Raven intoned, drawing out the syllables and giving individual stress, "we want to catch him and get them all to break up whatever this is, _before_ there's a felony to levy. It just so happens that their leader is an asshole who breaks the law."

"Gang mentality is dangerous," Hank remarked, more to himself than the group. "The public is already uneased by their growing activity, and the last thing we need is a turf war or them to start recruiting impressionable youth."

"Or, in summary, it's our job to protect the public, and we're going to do our best to do so," Raven said, determination burning in her voice.

* * *

In regards to Erik's religion, since this is primarily movie universe (I do believe there are some comics that portray him as more practicing) he doesn't entirely involve himself with his religion, but he is Most Definitely Not Christian.

A lot of Charles's past here is being drawn from the comics (which was somewhat implied in the movie), and if you've read them or other fanfics you probably have an idea of where this is going. If you're not a comics fan, don't worry, I'll make sure to explain the important parts when it becomes relevant.


	7. To Attempt a Capture

warning: excessive cursing. You probably already spotted it.

* * *

"He's STILL _fucking moping?_ " Logan may not be described as "shrilling," but it was close as far as Hank's ears were concerned.

"Really?" Hank said, rubbing his ears. "He probably heard you."

Judging by Logan's sudden wince, Charles did hear him.

"And pissy," Logan muttered, as an afterthought.

It was officially a week and a half since Charles came into the office distracted and somber, to the stunned silence of the whole department. It took hours of weak "no, we didn't break up"s from Charles before concern receded even slightly, and even then the whole department was feeling the effects of their chief being … under the weather? Brokenhearted? Pissy? Whatever it was, Hank was in the silent majority that hoped it resolved quickly.

In the meantime, Magneto's case had stalled entirely while steadily growing in importance. Hank picked as much data as he could from "Jewish, good grammar," but there were a surprising number of identified gang members that fit that description, let alone the ones they didn't know of. He supposed if the boss was Jewish it may attract more members of that affinity, and a majority of the gang were well-behaved. They had no more leads and Magneto was making more appearances, travelling at ridiculously high speeds and occasionally outright performing tricks in the middle of the road.

Needless to say, this combo was not reflecting well on Logan's mood.

"I think it's time that we ask the public for any information they may have," Hank suggested.

"Fine, whatever," Logan snarled, "but we've tried your way, now we do mine. We're getting on bikes, and we're getting out there, and we're catching him."

"That's…dangerous," Hank tried to argue, but he had to admit they were out of options. Just yesterday Magneto personally led the largest gang ride they'd seen so far, with at least 80 motorcycles cascading down the interstate, police helpless to stop them minus a complete roadblock, which only succeeded in causing them to scatter and slowing down traffic further.

"So is letting them continue this shit," Logan growled, fists balled at his sides, mouth twisted. "Me, Scott, Raven. Out on patrol, but specifically waiting to capture this bastard."

"Good luck," Hank said meekly, nausea boiling in his stomach at the fact he was condoning the act.

"Only problem," Raven said, startling them both as she sat on a nearby desk, "is that there's no way Charles will approve it with the mood he's in. He's not ready to pull out all the stops yet."

"So then get him in a better mood." Logan crossed his arms now.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

"Hey," Raven started casually, plopping herself into the chair across from Charles and carelessly tossing her legs onto his desk.

"What do you want, Raven?" Charles asked immediately, in that "disappointed dad tone" that suggested he expected her to turn tail and leave.

"The details. You never told me what actually happened," Raven said casually, waving a hand back and forth.

"I never told you simply because I don't want to." Charles didn't look up from his papers.

"Seriously, what happened? He didn't hit you, did he?" Raven was mostly joking as even though Erik was an asshole that didn't seem to be something he'd do, but she also knew that domestic abuse was a major problem and not even a police chief is immune.

Charles paused, as if he had to think about it, "He didn't hit me, no." The pen was put down in favor of holding his head. "I'm not mad. At him. At anyone, really."

Raven nodding, making sure to keep her thoughts positive and encouraging. Hook, line, and sinker.

"I don't know what to tell you, Raven, because I don't actually know what happened." Charles rubbed his face briefly, before looking up at her. He hadn't been crying, but the stress and tension of the shone in his eyes. "It was going well, and then it wasn't. There's something wrong with him. He just … got up and left," Charles said, disjoint sentences slowly forming a whole.

"Just left? Didn't say anything?"

"He said it was time to go and then left. I had already expressed my intentions to pay, but he just … left. I don't know if it was something I said or—oh God, we were talking about family. We were talking about the family he didn't have and I kept pressing—"

"Charles—Charles!" Raven quickly got up and joined Charles's side. Unbeknownst to most of the force and community, it was a fairly common occurrence. Charles was naturally a loving person and coupled with his telepathic/empathetic tendencies, many situations and failures hit him hard, especially when he realized he could have taken a different action than he did in the heat of the moment. Raven doubted Erik was the sole cause of this particular meltdown, but he just happened to be what Charles had been focusing on recently. Raven carefully rubbed his back and the back of his hand. "Charles, I doubt you did anything wrong, and you definitely didn't intend to do anything wrong, but you need to go talk to him. If for nothing other than your conscience."

"He hasn't contacted me," Charles said eventually, the distress fading.

"I might be wrong, but I don't think he ever has, has he? It was always you visiting or starting the conversation." Raven continued rubbing his back.

"You're right," Charles admitted faintly.

"I think you're just inexperienced with relationships and need to take a few crucial steps. Oh, I told the force about Moira by the way—"

"You what?!"

"—and you need to talk to him, and get things straight. The two of you come from completely different walks of life, and you likely don't have much, if any, insight into how he thinks without cheating," Raven flicked Charles on the side of the head and got swatted away, "and the simple cure to that is talking. You might have upset him, you might not have, but sitting here grieving over it isn't going to help."

Charles heaved a long exhale.

"Break up with him if you have to—I did, sort of, force you into it, but leaving it hanging like this isn't helping anyone and is hurting everyone." Raven pulled away from Charles and returned to the opposite side of the desk.

Charles weaved his fingers together and rested his chin atop his knuckles.

Raven rolled her eyes, "Last time you refused I talked to him myself, is that what you want?"

"I do not." Charles leaned back against the chair, face taut as he grabbed his pen to return to his work, "I'll go when I get off, I suppose."

"Speaking of work," Raven spotted her opportunity, "Logan wants to take a physical approach to catching our biker."

"Too dangerous," Charles declared instantly, the pen scratching harshly across the paper as he processed the request.

"Yes, but what's even more dangerous is this guy tearing up the streets," Raven argued, disappointed that Charles was putting up so much resistance. But she supposed that's just how Charles was—no matter how he was a moment ago, he was always ready to do the right thing, caring for and loving everyone around him. Erik would be lucky to have him and Raven might just have to _force_ that point across.

"Hnnn," Charles made a noncommittal noise.

"Besides, he said he'd take Scott with him—"

" _Willingly_?"

"—so he wouldn't do anything too crazy." And the pause from Charles told Raven that she had him on the edge.

"I don't want to agree to this," Charles said, mouth twisting to the side.

"I know you don't," Raven sympathized, tapping her hand on the desk. "But ignoring it will just encourage the behavior and Hank's reached the end of what he can do."

A moment of tense silence ensued as Charles refused to look at her, before finally, "Fine."

* * *

As you can probably tell, you didn't get these chapters as soon as I was done with them. I've been dealing with major confidence issues regarding my writing recently, plus a lot of other stress, and bitterness over the new movie. Oh well, hopefully it'll make some people happy.

Please feel free to give me your opinions on their mental states. I always thought the movies never paid much attention to the emotional aspects of what happens (admittedly because they're primarily action movies) and felt that there should be more of a fallout, but am aware that doing it well is very difficult.

I've also been working on a different (alright, a few) Cherik fics, so this one got ignored recently. Hard to say if those will ever see the light, but if you're interested let me know.


	8. To Give an Apology

Trying to solve everyone's problems except his own had always been one of Charles's vices. One could argue that it was the result of being abused and beaten by his step-family, but he personally chose not to dwell on it.

Instead he just dwelled on everything wrong he's done in life.

Sitting in the car.

Outside of Erik's garage.

For five…ten minutes?

Ehh…

Human emotions were an odd thing. It was obvious that finding closure, whether it was patching up the relationship or formally ending it, would be better than letting it hang indefinitely in limbo, yet he still refused to go _do so_.

The only thing spurring him on at this point was the fact that Raven said she'd call and make sure he actually talked to him. The door gave a few clicks as Charles pulled the handle, but then he paused again. He remained suspended there for a few more seconds before he shook his head, exhaled heftily, and pushed the door open.

He stepped out, the moderately sized garage suddenly seeming huge to him, and then shut the door with enough force the car rocked gently.

"I was wondering if you were going to come in or not," Erik called, not even turning around from his position on the floor among scattered pieces of motorcycle.

"…You knew?" Charles asked, every analysis of possible conversation paths thrown to the wind in a matter of seconds.

"I tend to take a special interest in cars that sit in my lot without coming in, yes." Erik spoke with the wry wistfulness that implied some sort of inside joke.

"…I see," Charles ultimately responded. That sort of paranoia wasn't uncommon among his officers, who were just so used to scanning for threats that it sometimes bordered on PTSD.

"What brings you to here? Flat tire? Broken air conditioning? Headlight out?" Erik asked jauntily, waving the piece in his hand about, but Charles had done far too much police work to not detect the bitter, flat tones in the rhythm that implied it was fake.

"I'm sorry," Charles said immediately, letting the sincerity flow both verbally and mentally, saying nothing else so to let it sink in.

At once, Erik seemed to stop, all but a mild twitch in the back of his hand coming to a complete halt. His hand froze mid journey to finally put the abused part on the ground, before inching its way to completion. The movements were jerky and slow, a stark contrast to the fluid, precise strokes that Charles had come to love in Erik.

Erik was a lot like the machines he worked with, in that way. Strong, unyielding, with every move planned and calculated, energy carefully conserved and rationed. But if something so simple as an apology could bring the machine to ruin, Charles wondered what he truly was. A murderer, mechanic, gang member, with more to be found. Contradictory, complex, compelling—they were tied somehow, all faces of the same cube, and yet the story contained within was lingering just out of reach.

"For?" Erik asked, having brought his head up to look at Charles now, face shadowed with the pain of an unknown emotion. "I'm the one that walked out on you."

"You did," Charles consented with an incline of his head, "but I was prying at what was clearly an uncomfortable topic, and should not have done so."

Erik's gaze fell again, movements neither as smooth nor as rough as previously. He picked up a wrench, but did nothing meaningful with it, mindlessly tinkering and twiddling with it. "I have been known to react adversely to mentions of my mother's death. I did not want to cause a scene," Erik spoke with the repressed monotone of those who didn't want to speak of what they had seen.

"Perhaps another time, then?" Charles offered, but immediately rectified the statement, "If you want to. Perhaps in private, here or somewhere else, my place …" Charles ultimately drifted off as Erik seemed unresponsive to the offer. "Are we still…?" Charles asked instead, gesturing between them.

"I don't see why not," Erik answered.

Charles felt relieved, taking a deep breath and briefly rocking back onto his heels, and then letting a small smile break across his face. "Are you by chance free tonight?" he asked, but Erik's attention had instead been grabbed by something behind him. Charles turned around in confusion, finding a television in the corner, showing news that he had successfully tuned out until that point.

"— _to end in failure. Magneto, the assumed leader of the gang Steel Vipers, has continued to terrorize local communities, driving recklessly, leading large gang runs throughout the city, and occasionally outright performing what appear to be stunts in the middle of public roads. The local authorities want to remind everyone that this is not a legal stuntman, these actions are not part of any show, and he is still wanted and considered dangerous. They urge everyone to call and report any sightings as soon as possible, and to please forward any information relating to the gang or Magneto's identity or location to the nearest police station._ " The newswoman spoke with the same impartial intonations that all newscasters were expected to have, while certain parts of the story were supported with newer video clips that have been collected.

Charles mostly ignored the story, as it was nothing he didn't know, having approved the request to ask the public for any information. Instead, his gaze redirected to the window, noting the slight sprinkling of snow on the surrounding area. The thought was shortly replaced by the realization that Charles couldn't actually see his car from his position, and that Erik almost certainly couldn't see from his angle, either.

There were plenty of explanations for the apparent discrepancy, of course, Erik may have seen him first go past on the main road, or, having worked here for many years, have become finely tuned to the sound of someone pulling in his driveway. Erik might even have video cameras around, and Charles briefly glanced around the garage before settling a curious look on Erik.

Erik continued watching the news until the story regarding his gang ended, and then stood up. "What do you have in mind?"

"I think," Charles started, expression sparkling with joy, "tonight would be a good night to simply stay in."

"Hm," Erik rumbled as he walked about, methodologically shutting down for the night, closing the doors both large and small, flipping the sign to CLOSED, turning off the television, putting away a few tools, and returning fully to the particular, attentive man that Charles knew. Shortly enough, the last few lights flickered off with a brief electrical buzz, and Erik nodded once, framed only by the light filtering in from another door. He stepped aside, and gestured for Charles to enter.

Charles frowned briefly, as he knew Erik had left things on the floor that he'd rather not step on both for his and the tools good, but stepped forward nonetheless and nothing crossed his path.

Charles crossed the threshold into Erik's living quarters, a warmth blossoming in his chest at getting this far with Erik.

It would be a nice night.

* * *

"Alright," Logan stated, buckling his helmet. Charles had lectured them so thoroughly on what they were and weren't to do while on this chase that it almost took the fun out of it.

Almost.

Logan was somewhat of a speed demon himself, so he was admittedly interested in physically chasing this guy down. It beat Hank's methods, at least. He grunted, because before a chase there was a whole lot of nothing waiting for the guy to show up.

" _So, looking at the data for his previous appearances, I'm seeing a few trends—"_

" _Hank. My way."_ Logan cut him off before he could try anything.

" _But if we—_ "

" _No."_

Hank went silent. Dispatch would let them know if he was spotted, assuming an officer saw him or someone reported it, which people have not been doing recently, unfortunately.

" _Let's roll_ ," Logan said, and he, Raven, and Scott did just that.

* * *

This fanfiction is part of a larger AU that I won't be posting here. (I will finish posting this one, don't worry.) But if you're that interested and don't mind AO3, you can find the whole Viper Verse over there. In particular, if you enjoy spy fiction, you may want to consider trying To Protect a Professor. Thank you for reading.


End file.
